


yellow roses, blue petals

by Elisye



Series: outside of the golden land [8]
Category: Clockwork (Webcomic)
Genre: Gen, also like really one-sided esther/chris if you squint and tilt your head by 180 degrees i guess??, dial the void for help with your procrastination, mage!Christian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-15 17:36:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5793661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elisye/pseuds/Elisye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Esther accomplished everything he couldn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	yellow roses, blue petals

**Author's Note:**

> im procrastinating like hell so a plot bunny hopped by my side and said, "what if chris' love for esther has a new dimension to it in the mage!chris au" so here I am

Since he was young, Christian admired Esther.

She was naturally different from most of his peers - a bit bolder, blunter, a major deviant from grace and laced gowns and pearly smiles. A burning ruthlessness colored her eyes, sparkled in her toothy grins, spreading out like fire and wings as she climbed up tall trees and hung upside down from branches. Even if she looked demure and even timid in front of her parents, head bowed down as they lectured her repeatedly about how she mustn't do such barbaric acts unfitting of her status, any smart person could see how she would grip the silk fabric of her dress with a vice-grip, and bob her head in only random agreement.

Esther was nothing like the people around him. She was a beacon of pure sunlight, almost - not as burning hot as the sunlight must be in Khonsur, but from pleasant Mercia, she was warmer than anything and anyone around. And such stark difference brought both admiration and scorn.

(Arcadia is a sheltered, glass dome of pride and history, of refined tastes and cultured beauty. Nothing unbecoming of this description is well-accepted, let alone tolerated.)

But even so - she would keep her head high, amidst it all, grinning fearlessly because she knew what bravery and freedom meant. Looking at her, Christian felt as if he could understand it too. What it meant and felt like to live without a single lie in your heart, all caution thrown to the winter winds.

(Also, once, she managed to throw a bully into the school's courtyard fountain after they harassed her for a while, and that's a feat always worth admiring.)

.

It was almost like a whim of the Goddesses that Christian became close friends with Esther.

Esther would help him out with many things - from history and politics, which were his worse subjects, to sharpshooting and the occasional jock who thought nerds were wholly weak - and in return, Christian would help her out with math and science, which were one of her weaker subjects, and other such little things. From an unfeeling point of view, it was a mutually beneficial, tactful relationship. Symbiosis, almost. In a more heartful way, it was like a small, but constantly flourishing bout of warm feelings in his heart.

It was like having the sun always by your side.

(But science taught him that the sun was probably a million times hotter than Khonsur is during its worst summer; it would burn anyone to death and ash before even a second got over.)

"So for the annual play, Alexander is the knight, Ruby is the princess, and the evil magician is...?"

The teacher looked on quizzically. No one in their small class raised their hand. 

Who would want to? No one wants to play the role of the loser. Of a person predetermined to be shallow and cruel without reason. (Except, no one realises, they do have a reason. They always had one, but everyone keeps forgetting to write it down.)

Very, very slowly, Christian raised his hand.

(Someone has to do it, though. At least he gets to pretend—)

"Christian, put your hand down," Esther almost snapped, looking offended that he even suggested himself like that - perhaps thinking sympathetically on his behalf. "No offense, but you can't act out a villain's role. Also, Miss Rosa, could I be the knight instead? I mean—wouldn't it be more interesting to have a play with, ah, _unexpected_ people playing the characters?"

The teacher looked unsure, but against Esther's sunny optimism and influence, she eventually conceded, and the entire role-cast was redone over the next hour or so.

Esther as the knight, Christian as her assistant. Ruby as the magician, and Alexander as a tree.

The decision-making was laughable. So Christian grinned, chuckled a little, but ultimately had nothing to say, strangely. He also didn't want to think too much about how Esther had effortlessly manipulated everyone to choose Ruby as the so-assumed villain of the play, especially when the two weren't at their friendliest lately, let alone being like kind sisters ought to be. Esther was still his good friend, though, so he kept those unnecessary thoughts out of mind and sight. 

(Something about it was... disturbing. He wouldn't be able to pinpoint it until much later, though.)

.

Over the years, as reality slowly descended down on his childish years - crushing his naivety as much as it sharpened his senses for danger - the two had slowly walked apart as well. It looked reasonable, considering how much Esther preferred warm and cinnamon-tinted Mercia over stiff and frost-blue Arcadia. Of course she would take the first chance to head back to what she more comfortably called home. Christian stayed behind, for less obvious reasons. He had an ailing mother to take care of, but also connections and souvenirs to keep neatly tidied up and hidden from the public eye.

But even as they walked apart, Christian occasionally got a letter or two over the years. Esther was having the time of her life, to summarize.

Her words even sounded livelier, as he read them - the ink pitch-black in contrast to Arcadia's dominating preference for royal navy blue. She was steadily rising up the ranks in Mercia's castle fortress, and with certainly more than enough potential to reach the top of the top, though he had enough courtesy and wit to not ask if she was aiming to be one of their Five on paper. (For a few minutes, he debated the pros and cons of using selective repelling charms on such letters, and where to find a tome to teach him how. All of those magic-related thoughts were immediately thrown out the window when he realised what he was thinking about, again.)

Christian was happy for her. She was living a dream, becoming who she wanted to be. Openly, and freely.

And here, he was steadily realising how much everyone took this freedom for granted.

(Maybe... Maybe, he could be like that too? Maybe he could grasp fate, and become a normal person too.)

.

As Christian packs his luggage, he absently wonders if Arcadia's outskirts are a good place to light a fire.

He goes with _no_ , because both fugitives and the city's poorest live in abundance around there. Having even a single witness could lead to the worst, as experience has recently taught him.

(If it were Esther, she would probably be able to throw away her attachments, those unneeded, troubling things - without effort, as required.

That's why he admires her so much, even though she had beliefs that would kill him in a heartbeat.)

So underneath layers upon layers of clothing, the thinnest and the simplest that he has, he keeps yellowing books without names and grimoires with archaic text stacked neatly next to each other. He goes through the entire immigration process with his heart constantly stuck in his throat, beating painfully and rapidly with each step, and even after arriving at Mercia's fortress, he keeps checking and double-checking and triple-checking his luggage, rifling through them to ensure nothing is out of place and missing, that no one discovered the books inside, and especially making sure no one could have peeked into them either.

The books go right at the back of a locked cabinet, with a subtle enchantment to make lockpicks spring out of the keyhole as a safety measure.

.

Mercia is friendly and lively.

For the Summer Festival, they hold a bonfire party on privately-owned grounds. It was Christian's suggestion, put forward especially for their newest, littlest resident, and backed by Esther's piqued interest.

Everyone enjoys it.

Christian goes to sleep with a mixed sense of relief and worry, and the faintest pulls of loss. 

(He only burnt the grimoires with contents he knew by heart, or had copies of.

But it's still a small step forward - right?)

.

The first of many executions begin.

Esther stares up at the hanging body with a blank look, lips tightly pursed, but something almost like relief curving her eyebrows. By her side, the Emperor stands, grim-faced, and his princely son, Boris, just looks overwhelmingly triumphant and proud even as death holds its mantle up so high.

Christian closed his eyes a long time ago. But even though the gaols are utterly silent, he can still hear the sounds of someone choking violently on their last breath.

He forces himself to look everyone in the eye, and appear slightly relieved too. He feels sick for days after, and then simply just numb about it all.

That... seems like progress...?

.

He is a normal person without a single secret.

He has every right to be who he wants to be, and to say anything.

He can love whoever he wants to love, as well.

Just like Esther, he has every single blessed opportunity available to him.

(But then, why is it so hard to face her in the morning, sometimes? Why is it so hard to look at everyone, to smile, to continue playing pretend? He's been doing it for so long, perhaps before he even realised he was acting.

Being honest is too hard. But he doesn't have a choice.)

.

Nothing is worse than revealing you can wield a power bestowed by Lilith herself.

Christian won't try to sugarcoat that fear by saying he'd break Esther's heart if he told her and got executed. He knows beyond that, more selfishly and humanly in nature - it's a primal fear of slowly and painfully dying. Of being mislabeled as a criminal with a hollow heart. 

To be heartlessly accused and thrown under history's rugs as yet another magic user who died - he knows Esther is capable of scribbling over the truth in such a way. He knows she's capable of believing it to the point of distorting their happier times into something insignificant and forgettable. (A similar treatment was given to Ruby, and look at how the two of them stand now. Both of them hardly remark on the other's existence, let alone remember that once upon a time, they were good siblings to each other. After all, that's in the past. And the same can happen to Christian too.)

It's better, if things stay like this. If the truth stays where it is, buried away from the sunlight. Like this, he can earnestly believe he has a chance to be with her.

.

"You should just tell her," Cog sighs, as he goes about with the usual rituals of fixing Christian's watch. "I mean, I think everyone in fortress can see it! You really love her."

Christian quickly sits upright in his chair, an embarrassed flush of red quickly creeping up on his face. "W-What? No, no, Cog, that's—that's not. Not how things go."

"Then how does it go?" The boy rolls his eyes. "Were you planning on having a dinner on the terrace with candles? And then proposing all romantically like in Cookie's novellas?"

" _What?_ I mean, uh. Well, that's— that's not a bad idea, actually..."

"Then why don't you just go for it?"

The scientist chuckles, quieter, staring down at his hands. A familiar itch passes through them, but goes away much too quickly, almost instinctively. He knows why.

"It's just... not the right time, Cog. It doesn't feel right to tell her my feelings." His shoulders slump down a little. "I know we've been friends for a long time, so I shouldn't really hesitate on this - but _because_ we've been friends for so long, it doesn't feel like the right time to say anything. It never does."

Cog sets down the watch, nimble fingers still holding onto its cracked and dull cover. "But then you'll never tell her the truth about how you feel. Isn't that worse?"

Christian just blinks. Worse?

_How can it be..._

The boy gives him a faintly puzzled look. Christian ends up smiling in response, as a reflex.

"...It's not a bad thing. Not telling her." He pauses, mind trailing off, the itch back in his hands and growing, reminding him— "I mean, what's important here... —It's that we're good friends first, and lovers second. I mean, it would be _really_ nice, if she loves me too. But if not, I don't want my feelings to ruin our current relationship. "

"Christian, you just said that you've been friends with her for a long time. She wouldn't let a love confession ruin anything."

"I know that. But... I guess, telling the truth - it's a pretty daunting task. Haha."

.

For a long time, Christian has admired Esther. And for a long time, Christian has been afraid of her. 

He admires her beauty and her strength, her ability to be brave in a sea of animosity, to be able to spread her wings wide without restraint. And just as much, he fears that ambitious fire in her eyes, her ability to cut off her strings as needed. Her shared, rampant belief that magic is dangerous and evil without exception, and that the same goes for its users.

He knows he doesn't have a single chance in _hell._

The truth can stay hidden, but it will always be there, waiting patiently. It waits for that inevitable day to be discovered, for a subsequent arrest, for a hanging and for a burial. 

(Funerals with fresh flowers and wishes for a peaceful rest are only for good, normal people. And history will dictate him as neither.)


End file.
